Beginning (a bit of fun)

[Precision Grace]

Ha! Happy New Year.
Anyway, I wrote something, mostly as a bit of an exercise and whatnot, and I thought I'd stick it here for amusement (if any is to be had) and comment, if anyone feels so inclined. Whatever you think works/doesn't work, don't be shy to flag it up.
Pip Pip




Beginning, The


“Now, wait just a minute!”

“What?”

“You can’t just go barging in like that.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” the flustered voice faltered, “it needs proper consideration.”

“I’ve considered it and I’m ready to begin.”

“You can’t be ready!” a polished shoe stomped an exclamation on the floor. Tiny clouds of dust rose up and settled down again, some of them on the shoe.

“Why not?”

“Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Oh for haven’s sakes, can’t you be serious for one minute?”

“I am being serious. This is a very serious matter to me. It matters a great deal. Fact of the matter is, I couldn’t be more serious if I tried.”

Dusty shoe turned its tip accusingly towards it’s pristinely polished, gleaming counterpart. It may have felt victimised by the dust, or that it was unfair it should be singled out; it’s generally quite hard to tell with shoes. Further up, the immaculately pressed pin stripped trousers trembled anxiously. Further up still, a pair of pale, rice papery hands clenched and unclenched with tiny, vigorous spasms. And still higher, a voice strained by decades of choked back opinions squeaked in an incomprehensive rage.

“knghhhhhh…ahghgh…knknkkn”

“What?”

Ancient, thin lips puckered up in a childish pout, unable to make the right words.

Bertram shrugged. He didn’t have time for this. Not now. He was ready and he would begin, the old codger would just have to bear it. He walked over to his desk, sat down, grabbed a pen and, with particular gusto he hadn’t felt for over a year, wrote on the 110gsm paper he had prepared especially for this occasion:

Shame it wasn’t Tuesday.

In the middle of the room, slightly trembling, First Undersecretary to His Highness Prince of Persia, Sir Waleter Discordant, closed his eyes, fully expecting a plague of locusts or, at the very least a bolt of lightning. Neither occurred. After a few minutes fraught with inner turmoil, Sir Waleter chanced a peak through his left eye and spying no immediate danger, but seeing Bertram feverishly at his task, let both his eyes shoot wide open.

Tuesday is generally known to be a good sort of day. Not like Monday, which everybody hates, or Sunday, day before the day that everybody hates. It is a day after all the bad days have past but before the week reaches the peak of tedium. In some ways, Tuesday is possibly better than even Friday. Bertram continued to write in his large, round handwriting, scraping the biro on the 110 gms paper designed for heavy printing. The ink soaked in leaving no smears.

“We are ruined, ruined!” intoned the First Undersecretary into his palms, which where pressed tightly over his long, drawn, rice papery face.

“Nonsense, pure nonsense!” Bertram managed a quip amidst his frenzied pen strokes.

“You have no idea what you’ve done, have you?” with a demanding stare, Sir Waleter turned sharply towards Bertram, or rather, Bertram’s hunched, yet still broad, back. “And at least straighten up when you are writing, you look like a…like a…like a person of poor breeding,” he finished huffily. Or it might have been haughtily, it wasn’t always easy to tell with First Undersecretary; huff and haught were pretty much it as far as his tone went.

Bertram straightened up in his chair and continued.

Had it been Tuesday, by golly, it would have been glorious. Birds chirping, sun shining, merriment and cheer all around. One could get used to that sort of Tuesday, Felibrant thought to himself, tying his shoelace for the fifteenth time. Why can’t they make the blasted things stick, he thought crossly to himself. Now, it may be argued that thinking is usually done to oneself, but it has also been said, by certain classes of new wave thinkers, that some thinking can be, and in fact often is, done aloud, for all to hear.

Sir Waleter, having read the latest paragraph over Bertram’s shoulder, groaned loudly. Bertram studiously ignored him and continued to write.

In any case, even if Felibrant were thinking aloud, which he wasn’t, there would have been no one to hear his thinking, for he was alone, there wasn’t a soul around. That is to say, there were souls around; of birds, small mammals, flowers and such, if those things had souls, on which point Felibrant was somewhat unsure; but there wasn’t a human person to be seen anywhere, and that was the point. Or rather, that would have been the point if, indeed, there was a point to be made, which wasn’t altogether clear.

Sir Waleter walked over to the overstuffed chair by the fireplace and sunk into it wordlessly. His wispy, white hair stuck limply to his head and his knees appeared even bonier than usual. Truth be told, they worked themselves up into two sharp points of worry. At least that’s what a casual observer would have thought, had they been observing him, which they were not, because Bertram had his back turned to him and there was nobody else in the room.

Sir Waleter looked forlornly at the italicised words floating in the air around him. He was done for, he knew. There was simply no way to get himself, or that buffoon, Bertram, out of this predicament.

Just then, a heavy candlestick, the one on top of the marble fireplace in front of the gilded mirror, fell off and landed with a thud on the Persian carpet at First Undersecretary’s feet.

Sir Waleter stared at the candlestick at his feet and then at Bertram, still writing furiously. He narrowed his eyes and raised one sharp eyebrow. Taking a deep breath, he glanced about, bracing himself for the next italicized calamity.

----

[BookStop]

which where pressed tightly

were

I feel like i am missing something obvious. Betram is writing about Felibrant, who is alone in the room. Waleter sits and then writing appears about ..Bertram and Waleter...written by ....? Bertram? Waleter? Felibrant? Are the new words Waleter's thoughts? When I first read through, I thought fel and bertram were one and the same up until the point was made that Felibrant was alone, and then there was the name change and it threw me even further. I really do suspect I am missing some sort of necessary plot device, and will feel quite silly once you explain, but nontheless, I am stuck.

Although, even with my slight hesitant state of confusion, I adore it! It tickles my fancy and I am smiling broadly and contemplating reading this aloud to the child sitting, minding thier own business, at the other computer in the room.

[Boneman]

I love it...... Good way for the New Year to start. Didja see that film with Will Ferrel where he gets to hear the story that's being written about him by Emma Thompson - 'Stranger than fiction'? Shades of that here, but I love the idea that he's creating reality with his writing, and the humour is spot on.... 5/5!

The only problem is..... if this is how you start the New Year, can you maintain this all year? Or improve on it, even? Oooh........

[Precision Grace]

Ah, sorry to hear about your confusion Bookstop. Here, let me recap:

There are two people in the room, Bertram and Sir Waleter. Bertram is writing. His writing always appears in italics. To begin with, he writes about imaginary character, Felibrant, and some other nonsense, like days of the week and such. Then, annoyed by Sir Waleter's disapproval of his writing, he writes about Sir Waleter and their surroundings (such as Sir Waleter's knees and the candlestick). In case it wasn't obvious, that writing becomes reality.
It is possible that the other writing is also a reality somewhere, perhaps just outside the window of their room. We don't know this yet, most likely because nobody bothered to check.

I hope his clarifies it a bit? I'm glad you liked it overall though.



Thanks Boneman, high praise indeed. I think I saw that flick, or if I haven't, I saw enough trailers to make me think I'd seen it. There is plenty of this type of thing around, my favourite is still Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next, Literary Detective with the Swindon branch of SpecOps-27. If you haven't come across it before, I highly recommend it, you'll love it.

I've finished the story now, it's just under 2k. I'm not sure how I feel about it. If you are bored sensless, I'd love to email it to you for opinion or several? I can't put it all up here, it would be worthless for anything else and I am harbouring a secret hope I can submit it somewhere.

I'm hoping to continue on the road of improvement for many years to come. Lord knows there is enough room left in my improvement cupboard.

[BookStop]

Thanks, PG - makes it perfectly clear. i just didn't catch that Bertram had purposefully begun writing his current surroundings.

I definitely liked it, as did my daughter when I read it aloud to her (silly mom actually made the girl pause her World of warcraft game to listen). I do hope you put the whole thing out somewhere for more people to read. It's really good so far. (I love Jasper Fforde too)

[Precision Grace]

Hi Bookstop. I hope your daughter wasn't disappointed, having been pried away from WoW. You read it aloud to her? Wow. Did you do the italics in a different voice? Thank you so much for looking at it and commenting.

Don't know what I'll do with it now, but hopefully I can find somewhere to submit it so more people can see the finished thing. Any ideas?

[BookStop]

Yes, you definitely should! Have you poked around the ralan.com website yet? Certainly somewhere there will feel like a good fit. I'd go for the pro markets first and work your way through to paying. I post stories on quantummuse sometimes, but they aren't a pay site.

[Precision Grace]

Ooo thanks. That's all very useful intel! Will have a mooch around the places you suggest, Cheers!!

[Jamasia]

I really like the style of the beginning - the pure duologue creates if not suspense then an expectation. The reader does not know what's happening (in a good way) at the start. Personally, I think authors who can successfully write asides (like what Bertram writes) without interrupting the plot are the best. Write more please.

[GeoffNelder]

I liked it too even though you break the 'rule' of starting with unattributed dialogue. As Jamasia says it generates an expectation and so is a hook. There is a lively exchange and nice touches with the polished shoe stamping an exclamation, and the raised dust settling on the same shoe, much to its annoyance - great.

A minor point is that you use further when you mean farther in
Further up, the immaculately pressed pin stripped trousers trembled anxiously. Further up still, a pair of pale, rice

Further / farther confusion is common. Farther is to do with distance, further is for such as furthering a cause.
You realise that you use no colours, no tactile nor smells? It is only a short piece and so maybe unnecessary but I'd hope you'd help the reader be more engaged with all of their senses in a longer piece.

Good one.

Geoff

[Precision Grace]

Thanks Jamasia and Geoff; good catch about the further/farther business! Good point about the senses as well; there is a bit about the colour and texture of curtains later on, and there is a fire in there (but smoke is not mentioned particularly). I want this to read as if it were a dream, or a hallucination, so that's why there aren't too many senses involved and things are very vague.

Many thanks!

[Precision Grace]

In case anyone is interested, the finished story can be read here Scribbles

[BookStop]

Just brilliant, PG - i love it - a real corker

The formatting of whit eon black kind of did a number on my eyes thoguh

[Boneman]

There it is, at last!! Great story, and kept all the original humour and wit and even added to it. What more could one ask for? Maybe just the undersecretary making one last despairing leap, just before the Ping. But that's carping...great story.

[ctg]

Good stuff PG. There were few occasions where you were repeating, but it wasn't really annoying, just something that I as a writer saw in the text. Keep going girl.